


The Best Eclairs in London

by occludes



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:40:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occludes/pseuds/occludes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This place had the best éclairs in all of London, and you've just offed the baker who makes them. How's that make you feel, Sebastian?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Best Eclairs in London

**Author's Note:**

> Fulfilling a Tumblr prompt: "bakery fiasco." My first attempt at Sherlock fanfic, so be gentle.

"Well, _some_ one's having a bad day."

 

The bakery door shuts behind Jim as Sebastian lifts his head. The flour has settled. Jim's shoes make very clean, distinct prints in it as he moves across the floor, pausing only to nudge a dead man's arm out of his way. In his pressed suit and hands in his pockets, he's the only thing in the room that isn't covered in white powder.

 

Sebastian purses his lips. He kicks at a woman crumpled at his feet, her motionlessness reassurance she's good and dead. Even if she wasn't his mark, he didn't need anyone left alive to squeal to the police later. If that meant raking the place with gunfire until he could hardly see from the upset flour, then so be it. It achieved his goal, anyway. "He tried running. I don't like it when they do that."

 

"Not your cleanest work." Jim steps lightly around the counter, examines the two bodies behind it thoughtfully. Water from a pierced sink pipe is spurting to the floor, forming an interesting pasty goo with the flour and blood. "And, really, couldn't you have _waited_? Gotten him out on the street? This is most upsetting."

 

"Uh huh." Never happy, is he? Doesn't ask why, because his boss will tell him regardless of whether or not he gives a good god damn.

 

Jim slides open the display case. From the top shelf, he plucks a chocolate glazed donut, holding it up and peering through its hollow center at Sebastian. "This place had the best éclairs in all of London, and you've just offed the baker who makes them. How's that make you feel, Sebastian? Pretty proud of yourself, hm?"

 

His tone is so comically annoyed and unimpressed. There's never any telling whether or not he's serious, so Sebastian doesn't bother trying to figure it out. Jim chucks the donut in his direction with an exasperated sigh. It thunks against his shoulder before hitting the ground. He ignores it. "We should be going. Police—"

 

"—Will be here in," Jim glances at his watch, "two minutes. And since you've absolutely _ruined_ this place for the next few months..." He gives a flippant wave of his hand, snatches up a paper bag, and begins placing a variety of pastries inside. "Good job. Marvelous work. _Really_. Jelly?"

 

Sebastian blinks. "What?"

 

"Jelly," Jim repeats. Then pauses, eyes him, and gives him a smile that is as pleasant as it is unnerving. "No. Lemon, isn't it. You're too sour to enjoy anything sweet." He tosses a lemon-filled donut into the mix, licks a spot of chocolate off his thumb, and folds the top of the bag neatly. Once, twice. He shoves it into Sebastian's hands as he heads for the back door.

 

A snap and a whistle from Jim and Sebastian follows after him without thought, feeling utterly ridiculous with flour in his hair and face and clothes, a gun slung over one shoulder, and a bag of fucking _pastries_. He says "Thanks?" because what the hell else is he supposed to say?

 

"No need," Jim hums, stepping out into the waning sunlight where a car is waiting for them. "But find me a new bakery worth its weight in éclairs, or I'm making _you_ into donuts."


End file.
